


Water like a stone

by some_stars



Category: Glee
Genre: Christmas, Homophobia, Internalized Homophobia, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-12-29
Updated: 2010-12-29
Packaged: 2017-10-14 05:00:34
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,526
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/145639
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/some_stars/pseuds/some_stars
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Kurt has trauma, Blaine has issues, and Christmas Eve day may or may not be a big moneymaker for family shows. (AKA, a fix-it fic for the Christmas episode that just got <i>way</i> out of hand.)</p>
            </blockquote>





	Water like a stone

**Author's Note:**

> This story may contain some minor canon inaccuracies regarding the following: timeline issues(mine makes more sense), living arrangements(new houses don't get bought in the space of two episodes, and anyway I like writing about the basement), architecture(do I actually care where the Hummels' kitchen is in relation to the basement door? I really, really don't), and whether or not Kurt has his giant car(I'm pretty sure the show just forgot about it, but whatever, I'm giving it back). Oh, and I don't know the first damn thing about King's Island.
> 
> Contains **spoilers** for 2x10 and oblique but meaningful references to 2x04. Originally posted [here](http://lcsbanana.dreamwidth.org/2000384.html).

He'd had the fur-lined tracksuit picked out since the end of summer. Coach Sylvester had taken the news of his junior year defection from the Cheerios shockingly well, which was to say with no outright violence against his person, but Kurt had thought it best to have some bribery at the ready in case she changed her mind about not feeding his blood to the segment of the squad that was allowed protein(the ones who did the lifting, mostly, and the base of the pyramid when they were performing well).

When Mr. Schuester had come to him with his Secret Santa woes, Kurt's first thought had of course been Ms. Pillsbury, and he'd been prepared to perform a gentle but firm intervention, so it was a relief to be able simply to pull up the tracksuit on his phone, obscure the price with his thumb, and send his former teacher on his way while graciously accepting his effusive thanks.

Kurt leaned back against the leather sofa--the décor was _so_ New England prep school here, it was like they were actively trying to look like a movie set--and distracted himself for a while browsing outerwear on his phone. He could still feel Blaine pressed against his right side, though, and the faint vibrations of their joined voices, and the warmth that Kurt had only barely sensed through the sweaters and blazers separating them. It felt strange that it didn't feel illicit or stolen to relive every touch. Not that Kurt intended to make a move--aside from the occasional spark that he was probably imagining(and the occasional 'asking Kurt to perform romantic duets and then getting _really_ into it,' but one time wasn't enough to go on), Blaine clearly didn't reciprocate his crush, and that was really all it was, so there was no need for any drama. But he could enjoy it, if he wanted, without the edge of panic or the undertone of self-loathing, and that was new. It made him feel light.

If he couldn't even concentrate on window-shopping, more cramming for tomorrow's European history test was clearly out of the question. Kurt got his books and was almost out of the common room when something caught his eye and he turned around. It was Blaine's CD player, left behind when Blaine had hurried out. Kurt took it, did not allow himself more than ten seconds of speculation on why Blaine might have been so distracted, and went to give it back.

The door was closed, which was weird, because it was still an hour to curfew. Blaine's roommate Adam answered the door when Kurt knocked.

"Blaine's not here," Adam said, which was reasonable, since it wasn't like Kurt stopped by every other day to see _him._ "He left like a half hour ago. He probably went for a walk, dude has this creepy polar bear resistance to the weather."

"Probably," Kurt said. Blaine had told him before that he liked to walk the grounds after dark when he had too much to think about, to clear his mind. "He left this."

He held out the CD player. Adam took it, thanked him, and shut the door. Kurt thought about going outside to find Blaine--he knew some of his favorite routes--but he had no good reason for wanting to. At least, none that he could give to Blaine. And really, it was freezing out there.

He'd make an early night of it for once, Kurt decided, but he didn't fall asleep for hours.

*

The next morning, Kurt managed to oversleep for only the second time since he'd arrived at Dalton, forcing him to choose between skipping breakfast or abbreviating his hygiene-and-grooming regimen, which was really no choice at all. His English test had been earlier that week, so first period was spent trying not to be noticed as Ms. Alvarado called on people to read poetry aloud as some kind of pre-vacation group bonding exercise. The fact that none of the teenage boys in the room seemed eager to express their feelings through verse didn't deter her at all, nor did the fact that, despite being in a third-year literature class at a painfully elite prep school, not a single one of them knew how to read around line breaks.

That alone almost pushed Kurt to volunteer so he could do it _right,_ but thankfully that was when class ended and he could make his escape. (Not a moment too soon; Ms. Alvarado had moved on to more contemporary poetry in her unflagging effort to engage the class, and while Kurt deeply and sincerely appreciated Dalton's liberal atmosphere, watching a group of sixteen-year-old boys in uniforms stumble through the dirty parts in "Howl" was enough to make him long for some nice repressive heteronormativity.)

Second period was math, which was actually difficult and the test was tomorrow, so Kurt hardly noticed when Blaine arrived a couple minutes late. When class ended he was already making study plans for lunch--after skipping breakfast, he didn't dare tempt his blood sugar any further, so he'd have to eat at least an apple, even if waiting in line would steal over five minutes from his reviewing time--and while he noticed that Blaine was the first one out of the classroom, he didn't have time to dwell on it.

It was only when he didn't even see Blaine in the dining hall that Kurt realized they hadn't spoken all day, not since-- He stopped dead in the middle of a busy hallway when it finally clicked, his stomach turning a little as the clamor of footsteps and voices and lockers abruptly faded. It took two people running into him to get him moving again.

It wasn't that strange, Kurt thought, walking mostly on autopilot toward the nearest door outside. It led to one of the small side gardens, with a picnic table and a row of fruit trees that looked distinctly unenthusiastic about life. (No one knew what kind of fruit they were supposed to grow, Blaine had told him during his first couple of weeks here, when Blaine had seemed determined to show off every single thing about Dalton that was special, or strange, or interesting at all, like he thought Kurt might reject them and go back to McKinley if he wasn't sufficiently impressed.) To go half a day without talking to him--it wasn't so weird. Kurt had missed breakfast, after all, and they'd only shared one class today so far, and they were both so busy right now. And last night Blaine had just been out of his room, there was nothing suspicious about that. There was no reason to feel like this.

It had never happened before, though. He hadn't even noticed until just now the way that Blaine always found him--just to say hi, or walk a few feet with his arm around Kurt's shoulder, or let Kurt show off that day's accessorizing choices. Or he'd text him, on the odd days when they kept missing each others' paths, describing some weird dream he'd had or complaining about another of Adam's late-night phone calls with his girlfriend that kept turning into whispered softcore, or. Something. It was always something, and Kurt hadn't even realized until it was gone.

It was bitterly cold outside, despite the mid-day sunshine lighting up the clear sky until it was so bright you couldn't look straight at it. Kurt sat there on the wooden bench for the rest of his lunch hour, European history notes forgotten in his bag, and tried to convince himself that nothing was wrong. He'd never been any good at lying to _himself,_ though. When he finally made it to class--just as the tests were being handed out, drawing attention he would have hated if he'd more than half-noticed it--his fingers were still almost numb.

*

He'd promised to help his roommate with his truly execrable French, that afternoon, for his exam tomorrow, and Kurt threw himself almost bodily into the delicious mysteries of irregular verbs. Dennis kept shooting him looks--first uncomfortable, then concerned--but Kurt didn't leave him any room for well-meaning questions, filling every potential silence with prompting or explanation or encouragement or, when he ran out of anything else, some fairly cruel sarcasm.

"Dude," Dennis said, after Kurt had speculated about what degree of parental financial contribution had been required for him to pass unhindered through French I and II, "what the hell is your _deal_ today?" He hadn't even sounded that angry--more like genuinely perplexed--and Kurt made his excuses and got away not long after.

His phone buzzed on the way back to his room--he kept it on vibrate these days; Dalton's no-cellphones-in-class policy was enforced much more strictly than McKinley's had ever been--and when he dug it out he found a handful of text messages. The first one had come around three o'clock, about fifteen minutes ago. It was from Brittany, and the other texts were dated a minute or two later. There was one from Tina, and Mike, and then a minute after that two more from Artie and Quinn. They were all asking, in varying degrees of text-speak(Quinn used complete sentences; Tina was barely legible), what Kurt's plans were over break. (Brittany's message also told him to call her if he needed help killing any dragons. He really missed Brittany sometimes.)

Kurt stared at his phone for a minute, wondering what was going on, until he remembered. Today was the last day of class at McKinley. And it was Wednesday, they had glee practice on Wednesdays, so probably Brittany had texted him and then badgered the others into doing the same. No, that wasn't fair, they'd probably wanted to. They were his friends, right?

He started to write a reply to Brittany's text, but after deleting his fourth false start, it seemed pointless. He just didn't have anything to say, he realized. To her, or to any of them, not after a whole month apart(and maybe longer in some ways, a lot of ways).

It didn't help, either, that Kurt didn't even have any plans, aside from a shopping date with Mercedes as soon as he got back home. He'd had kind of a vague idea that it would be nice to catch up with everybody, but when he thought about it he realized that what he really wanted was to get all eleven of them in the same room with him, so he could sit near the back and watch everyone being dysfunctional and maybe they could all sing something. Which...it was just too pathetic for words.

He was the one who had left, after all, even if he hadn't really wanted to. He was happy at Dalton, and he had no plans to go back--even if McKinley somehow magically became safe and welcoming, Dalton could give him vastly better odds of getting into any college he wanted. There were levels of math and science offered here that Kurt hadn't even known you could _take_ in high school. Starting next semester he'd been promised a scholarship--Blaine had guided him through the application process during Kurt's first weekend at Dalton, showing up at Kurt's room with an armful of paperwork and half a dozen scholarships for Kurt to choose from--so they wouldn't even have to dig into his college fund.

He was enjoying his first chance at an angst-free crush, too. Or he had been, until today's ridiculous attack of paranoia that would be dispelled soon enough. He had what he wanted, now, and there was no reason to let himself feel wistful--or, god forbid, nostalgic--for whatever he'd left behind.

No point, either. He wouldn't be getting any of it back.

He put his phone away and went inside.

*

By the time dinner rolled around, Kurt had formulated a plan. He'd go down to the dining hall fifteen minutes after it opened, ensuring that Blaine would have gotten there--he was never more than a few minutes late--and that he wouldn't have left yet. Kurt would sit next to him or across from him, the way he had every night since he arrived here, and Blaine would _have_ to say something to him. It probably wouldn't even be awkward, because there probably wasn't anything going on except Kurt's subconscious trying to make up for the notable lack of melodrama in his life lately, and if it was--there'd be people everywhere. Blaine would have to stay there and tell him what was wrong(what he'd done wrong), and then Kurt would know, and he'd fix it, and that would be that. And he'd stop feeling like this, tangled and sick and--ashamed, in the familiar way he hadn't missed at all.

He freshened his hair, which was somewhat the worse for lying on his back in bed for the last hour and a half, and switched the zebra brooch out for an abstract piece with spheres. Then he went downstairs, falling into the crowded end of the first dinner rush, and let himself be herded into the dining hall.

Blaine wasn't there. Kurt's eyes went straight to their usual table and though it was filling up with Warblers, Blaine was absent. He wasn't in line, either, or anywhere in between. Kurt checked his watch, knowing before he saw it what it would read. He'd checked it before coming down here, after all. His timing was perfect.

For lack of anything else to do, he went through the line and got his usual(chicken breast, salad bar, one half-pump of vinaigrette), then headed to his usual table. Blaine's usual table, really; Kurt had friends outside the Warblers now, but he still spent every meal where he'd spent the first one, when Blaine was the only person in the room whose name he could even remember. He sat there now.

"Hey, Kurt," David said, after everyone had greeted him and he'd started to eat, "have you seen Blaine around? He's been MIA since breakfast, and we thought he was studying or something, but he seriously never misses a meal and it's getting weird."

Kurt swallowed--it was only a little hard--and shrugged. "I haven't seen him since second period," he said. "I thought maybe you guys would know." His voice came out perfectly casual, curious with just a touch of concern.

David rolled his eyes. "He is so high-maintenance sometimes." Everyone laughed. Kurt did too. "Whatever, we'll hunt him down later. He probably fell asleep in the library again."

He wasn't in the library. Kurt checked there before heading back to Blaine's room, because it would have been the easiest answer to this whole wretched day, so of course he came up empty, and ended up right where he'd been almost twenty-four hours ago, knocking on a closed door that should have been open, but empty-handed this time.

Blaine answered the door. He looked fine, Kurt noted: no dark circles or bloodshot eyes, no unkempt hair or clothing, no paleness, no grimace. Not much expression at all, in fact. "Hey," he said, and didn't step out of the doorway to let Kurt in.

"Hey," Kurt said. He went with his planned approach. "We missed you at dinner. Everyone was wondering where you've been all day."

"Um, in class and studying my butt off?" Blaine grinned. For the first time since Kurt had met him, it didn't reach his eyes. "Really, I'm fine."

There was more to the planned approach--some friendly needling, a splash of slightly exaggerated concern, something that would let Kurt take control of the conversation and guide it smoothly and non-pathetically toward _why are you avoiding me_ \--but Kurt couldn't remember any of it because, god, Blaine was avoiding him. He actually _was._ Standing there pretending to smile while his eyes screamed how much he wanted Kurt to leave him alone.

"Oh," Kurt said. He could barely hear himself over the sudden pounding in his ears. A sickly familiar cold heat washed over him, stiffening his spine the way it always did. "Sorry to bother you."

He knew what to do with humiliation. He wished he didn't. He'd actually thought he wouldn't have to anymore. He'd gotten everything wrong.

"Hey," Blaine was saying--with a little frown of concern, now, that was surely just as fake, "I'll talk to you tomorrow, okay?" He barely waited for Kurt's nod before closing the door in his face.

"No you won't," Kurt said, but it came out hardly louder than a whisper.

*

Several days passed in a blur. Somewhere inside, Kurt knew, he was recording every single wretched self-pitying moment, but keeping himself largely unaware of that kind of thing was one of his most highly-developed life skills. He couldn't afford to wallow, not with two tests (including math) the next day.

After that, it was just that he didn't want to think about any of it. Distracting himself was harder while on vacation, but Kurt had practice at that too--and he had help.

"For the _last time_ ," he said, "I am not wearing antlers." He pulled them off and jammed them onto Mercedes' head. "Ugh, you gave me static. You're lucky I haven't finished my hair yet, I would actually kill you."

"But if you wear them, I'll _definitely_ be able to convince everyone to wear them," Mercedes said, cheerfully undaunted by threats. Apparently their being separated (not counting Skype, not counting sectionals where they hadn't had time to do more than hug fiercely) for over a month hadn't left her more properly fearful of him. "And if everyone's wearing them, I'll be able to get Mr. Schue to wear one. Maybe even Coach Sylvester."

She paused for a second, as did Kurt, who had been sorting through outerwear.

"Mercedes," he said slowly, "I know life without me is bleak and empty, but don't tell me it's driven you to suicide."

"Okay, not Coach Sylvester, but come on. I got this whole box of twenty at the dollar store, I want to use them! You can't wear that jacket," she added, "it's not Christmas colored," and Kurt hung it back up, rolling his eyes.

He'd made his strenuous protests to the Christmas-themed outfits idea when she'd arrived this morning and briefed him on the whole "Glee Club (Plus Sue Sylvester Which Really Is Kind of Bizarre) Saves Christmas" plan. Not that he had a problem with the plan itself, as intensely cheesy as it was--a man who was so utterly friendless that he'd drive two hours to ask his ex-student for gift-shopping advice (really, he could have just sent an e-mail) was definitely a man who could use some Christmas cheese. And it was exactly what Kurt needed, though he was trying not to let that show--something to focus on that was happy, uncomplicated, and not about him or his stupid feelings in any way.

He'd been unexpectedly touched, as well, to realize that everyone in glee was just assuming he'd take part in the plan. Sure, he Skyped with Mercedes twice a week, and he'd called Finn a few days after sectionals, both to get a non-Mercedes perspective on the drama he'd been missing and also because he really did feel a little guilty about disappearing practically as soon as they'd become official brothers(and maybe, a little, because after his cut-short conversation with Rachel, Kurt had had the feeling--quickly proved correct--that Finn might need to talk to a relatively uninvolved party). He'd also had an awkward but weirdly sweet late night Skype session with Rachel, because apparently they were actual friends now and she felt comfortable crying at Kurt over Finn--that had been bizarre, but somehow not entirely regrettable.

But just because Kurt hadn't cut off all contact, he hadn't thought everyone would still think of him as one of them. He was the competition now, after all, but apparently McKinley High Glee Club was like the mob: you were in it for life. And everybody expected Kurt to be there this afternoon when they holiday-cheer-bombed Mr. Schuester's home.

It was sweet, and it was _exactly_ the kind of thing he'd been embarrassed about wanting, and it was almost fully distracting Kurt from his angst. What he hated the most was remembering (and reliving) his first reaction, what he'd tried to hold down that first day until he'd come face to face with Blaine and couldn't anymore. How the first thing he'd felt wasn't anger or sadness but _shame,_ like it was something he'd done. Come on too strong, or pushed too hard, or--something. Been too into their duet and not sufficiently afraid to show it, which was _stupid._ Singing together had been Blaine's idea, and he'd been playing the role to the hilt every bit as much as Kurt was. Even if it had only been a role for him.

He'd been completely comfortable playing the (kind of creepy, possibly-roofie-using) suitor to Kurt's flirtatious naif, and if there'd been an awkward few seconds after they finished when Kurt had been mentally screaming for Blaine to seize the unspeakably perfect moment and kiss him, well, it hadn't lasted. They'd been fine, and Blaine had left and they'd been fine, and Kurt had joked to Mr. Schue about being "in love" with Blaine but hadn't meant it at all and they'd been fine. And it wasn't as if singing with Kurt would make the other guys think Blaine was gay, since he already was and everyone was fine with that, so really Kurt had no goddamned idea what Blaine's stupid problem was.

That had been his second reaction: anger. Two days of being ignored and four days of vacation had only served to purify Kurt's righteous fury. He was actually starting to scare himself a little, but nobody seemed to have noticed anything, which was good; Kurt loved his dad more than life and he actually mostly trusted Finn now--a strange but positive development--but talking to either of them about his problems with a guy he was maybe interested in wasn't something he was eager to do. Even if this one was actually gay, the wounds--however irrational, however deserved--from the last time Kurt had tried that were still more raw than he cared to let on.

He didn't mention anything to Mercedes either. She would have gotten all defensive on his behalf, and despite being, by this point, one hundred percent certain of his own rightness, Kurt didn't want to deal with that. He wasn't really sure why. Probably she'd noticed by now that Kurt had stopped mentioning Blaine every time they talked--it was a sudden change from the last few weeks of crushing and giggling--but she hadn't said anything yet.

Disturbingly, the one person who had asked Kurt if something was wrong had been _Rachel_ , who had paid him the world's most uncomfortable welcome-home visit yesterday, either forgetting that her still-ex-boyfriend lived here now or secretly hoping to run into Finn under the guise of visiting Kurt and somehow woo him back. Kurt couldn't tell, because Rachel had an unsettling way of coming across as _more_ genuine when she was pulling the most contrived schemes ever. If it had been a win-Finn-back plot, it had failed miserably: Finn had caught one look at her and run back up the stairs. Literally run. It was sort of impressive.

Before that, though, Rachel had asked if something was wrong, and Kurt had actually been thrown for a second for how to respond. If someone was going to be able to see through Kurt Hummel's perfectly-applied emotional facade, it should not have been Rachel Berry, of all people, who wouldn't recognize an honest emotion if it bit her on her pantsuited butt. Even if they were sort of friends now, and not entirely against Kurt's will.

(He hadn't told her anything, of course, but he very secretly appreciated being asked.)

In short, Kurt had been having a terrible and complicated week, and hearing Mercedes' "Of _course_ including you, what kind of question is that, stupid" had been nice enough that it probably qualified as heartwarming. Heartwarmed or not, however, Kurt still had standards.

"Red and green flatter no one, Mercedes." He gazed critically at the possibilities he'd laid out on his bed. "I'm going to look like an elf."

She just laughed at him. "Boy, you really must be out of practice dressing yourself. The Kurt I went shopping with two months ago could rock any color combo he felt like."

"We get free dress on the weekends!" Kurt protested, though it was true he'd been reining in his more high-concept ideas at Dalton. Entirely for lack of closet space, of course. Not because he was _worried_. "How about just red? You're barely wearing any green anyway."

"Fine," Mercedes said, "I'll allow it. If you really want to be a _fashion coward_."

"Discretion is the better part of valor," Kurt said, and turned back to his closet, combinations already taking form in his mind's eye. This would be the first time most of his friends (and not-quite-friendly glee comrades) were seeing him in over a month, not counting in uniform, and Kurt didn't intend to waste a receptive audience on an outfit that was anything less than amazing.

The door at the top of the stairs opened. "Some dude here to see you," Finn called down.

Kurt glanced at Mercedes, who shrugged. "I didn't bring anybody," she said. "And there's still almost an hour before everyone meets up here."

"Everyone's meeting up here?" That was a surprise.

"Three of us are already here, and your car is bigger than anyone's," she said, like it was just that simple. "Anyway if that were one of us, Finn wouldn't be calling him 'some dude.' Did you get a boyfriend up there at Hogwarts and not tell me?" Unspoken but clear was the real question: is this what you haven't been talking about?

Kurt rolled his eyes. "Not that I'm aware of." And not for lack of trying, but he didn't need to start thinking about that again.

"So...should I send him down here?" Finn said. He'd moved further down the steps and Kurt could see him now. He looked confused.

"No," Kurt said, "I'll be up in a minute," and then Finn left and Kurt realized he'd forgotten to ask Finn _what the guy's name was_. "Crap. Mercedes, dress me?"

"I don't know," she said, smiling; clearly she hadn't believed his denial about having a boyfriend. As if she wouldn't have been the first to know. "You look fine right now."

Kurt stared at her. "I'm wearing a white t-shirt and sweatpants."

"Yeah, but sweatpants from your wardrobe are practically black tie. They have _buttons_." She tugged him out of the closet and gave him a little push. "Quit stalling, go. I'll wait here."

Kurt didn't move. An idea was almost occurring to him, something really important and possibly life-changing, but his mind seemed to be suddenly moving in slow-motion and he couldn't quite figure out what it was. Something obvious, though. Something he should see coming.

(It couldn't be him. Kurt hadn't even hoped. He hadn't even _wanted,_ not really, not yet.)

Then Mercedes grabbed his hand and pulled him up the stairs so fast he didn't have time to balk. "Wait, no," he said on the top step, not even sure why he was protesting, but she laughed at him--a warm laugh, that made Kurt feel safe in spite of everything--and nudged him forward into the front room.

The first thing Kurt noticed about Blaine was that he had snow in his hair. Not a lot, just a sparse sprinkling of white flakes, melting away even as Kurt looked at him.

The second thing Kurt noticed was that Blaine was _in his house_. On December 24th, at slightly past noon, for no reason Kurt could even begin to guess at. He was out of uniform, of course, wearing the same utterly boring jeans and solid-colored sweater combo he always wore on weekends. It was dark green this time. Probably Kurt needed to stop staring with his mouth open like an idiot, but that didn't seem to be happening.

Finn was looking back and forth between them uncertainly. "Um," he said. "Kurt, do you know this--"

"Hi," Blaine said.

"Blaine," Kurt said, and then his throat locked up like it did in his nightmares sometimes.

"I'll just--go," Finn said, and disappeared into the kitchen. So did Mercedes, murmuring something to Finn, probably filling him in on who Blaine was. She closed the door behind them, though Kurt was certain she was still listening. Really, he wouldn't have had it any other way, not that he seemed able to say a single word right now. He was busy realizing several things at once:

One, he still felt a stupid, _hateful_ urge to apologize to Blaine for...something. Anything.

Two, his awesome, righteous, kind of scary anger was suddenly really hard to hold onto.

Three, he hadn't been joking about being in love with Blaine. At all.

Four, according to the performance schedules Kurt had looked up online for reasons that were not at all stalker-like or bitter, the King's Island Christmas Spectacular (All Singing, All Dancing, Partially On Ice) was in full swing for another three and a half hours.

"Christmas Eve day is a big moneymaker for family shows," Kurt said, because when given the choice between 'dramatic shocked silence' and 'moronic non-sequitur,' of course his brain would choose the second option.

"Uh," Blaine said. The snow in his hair had just about all melted now. He wasn't even wearing a coat, Kurt realized, and had no idea what to do with this knowledge.

"Did that gig let you out early?"

"Uh," Blaine said again. Then, "No." Kurt had never seen Blaine even remotely lost for words before. It was cute. _That_ pissed him off enough to focus, finally.

"So are you going to tell me?" Kurt said. "What horrible thing I did?"

"Wait, what?" The distress on Blaine's face looked genuine, now. Good, Kurt thought. It made it easier to keep going.

"I mean I must have done something really awful, right? For you to ignore me like this? To act like I don't exist?" Blaine started to say something again, but Kurt didn't let him. He felt like he was finally on solid ground again after a week at sea, and he couldn't stop. He didn't _want_ to stop. "Was it the singing? I mean, it was your idea, you _asked_ me to do it with you, to _rehearse_ with you, so that can't be it, right? Because I have to tell you, Blaine, the way you've been this last week, I've seen it before."

"Kurt--"

"I've been treated like _shit_ before," Kurt said, and the look on Blaine's face was horrible, sad, awful, but god, it felt good. Because this was what Kurt needed, wasn't it? "Like I was contagious."

Someone to be angry at.

"Like I was too pushy."

Someone safe.

"Like I was too _gay,_ " Kurt said, and then it was gone. He just felt sick. (In a distant corner of his mind, he realized that his dad and Finn, sitting in the kitchen, must have heard every word of that. It would be something to deal with, later.)

Everything was silent for a minute. He heard voices in the kitchen, but couldn't make out the words, and then that stopped too. Blaine was just--staring at him, gone pale and looking like Kurt had _hit_ him or something. Kurt had no idea what it felt like to punch the guy you loved in the face, but it couldn't be worse than this.

Finally Blaine said his name again--more quietly, this time--and without knowing why even a little bit, Kurt grabbed him, opened the front door, and dragged him outside, shutting the door behind them. "I'm sorry," he said. God, it was cold out here.

"There wasn't a gig," Blaine said, which was so completely not what Kurt was expecting that it took him a long time to even process it as words, by which point Blaine was going on: "I made it up, I just--I did the Christmas show up there years ago, with children's choir, and I needed an excuse and it just came out."

None of it was making sense. "An excuse for what?"

"For asking you to sing with me," Blaine said.

Kurt stared at him. "Okay, maybe it's the cold," he said, "but you're not making any sense." And Blaine kind of smiled at that, which did even more than the weather to make Kurt feel less like he might at any moment throw up and maybe die.

"Can I ask--why are we out here? In the cold?"

"So I don't say more stupid shit," Kurt said. "Why did you need an excuse?"

Blaine seemed to be steeling himself for something, and then he looked at Kurt. Really looked at him, the way he had for just a second after the duet, the way he never really did when anyone else was around them. (Except he had that first time, when he'd taken Kurt's hand and become the first non-girl non-relative since third grade who wasn't scared shitless of _touching_ him. When he'd sung to him, and then it had gone away and Kurt had been sure he'd imagined it.)

"I needed an excuse," Blaine said, sounding like he was choosing every word carefully, "because I was scared. I was scared of how much I liked you, and I was scared to tell you that I just wanted to sing with you and I didn't have a good reason, except that your voice is beautiful and I like watching you sing."

Kurt was distantly aware that the snow had started to find its way beneath his paper-thin t-shirt, and that he was really _extremely_ cold, but it didn't seem very important.

"I really like you, Kurt." Blaine was talking faster now, still staring at Kurt with an absolute, unbreakable intensity. "I have since I met you, but I told myself you didn't need to deal with that after everything you'd been through. And then I told myself you weren't interested in me anyway--"

"You could have asked," Kurt said faintly.

"--and I told myself a lot of other stuff, because I didn't want to admit how-- _fucking_ scared I was."

"Of _what?_ " Kurt said. He was reeling a little from the shock of hearing Blaine actually swear. "It's not like I'd go all gay panic on you if you asked me out. I'm really not--dangerous. Or scary, even when I want to be, which is frustrating, but--"

"I'm not out at home," Blaine said.

Kurt had no idea what to say to that. After a long moment, he settled on, "You're not?"

"I mean, they knew about the bullying, of course, that's why they let me transfer, but they thought--I let them think--that the gay thing was just made up. Kids being cruel. It was plausible, and they didn't push. I'm pretty sure they wanted to believe that anyway." Blaine looked away finally, for the first time in minutes. "So I never told them. And everyone at school knows not to say anything, the two times a year that my parents show up, and--I'm just. Not."

It didn't make sense. It made less than no sense, that Blaine could be closeted, could be afraid or ashamed or--anything. It didn't make sense, either, that Kurt wanted to hold him _right now_ , because he was pretty sure Blaine still hadn't actually apologized for blowing Kurt off and lying to him and giving him the silent treatment for a week. It really didn't make sense that Kurt felt suddenly warm all over, but that was probably hypothermia.

"Come on," he said, taking Blaine's arm. "Inside." Blaine went with him, unresisting. He'd probably have followed Kurt around the block right now. There was no reason that should make him feel the way it did.

The kitchen door was open when they went inside, so everyone saw him guide Blaine down to the basement. To his bedroom, which might have been embarrassing if he'd cared. He sat Blaine down on the couch, sat next to him, started trying to figure out what to say now. Blaine started talking again before Kurt could come up with anything, anyway.

"I'm not brave like you are," he said. "You're amazing, the kind of courage you have, and I'm not like that. I can't be."

Kurt felt himself start to flush. "I ran away."

"You made a choice," Blaine said. "And you wouldn't have had to if you hadn't been so damn brave and strong and kept being yourself in a place where everyone wanted to change you."

"Okay," Kurt said, "thank you, but enough," because he really couldn't deal with Blaine saying this stuff and looking at him like Kurt was something so incredibly special he couldn't even put words to it. It was ridiculous. Wonderful, but ridiculous. This entire--episode was insane, everything was happening too fast. It felt like hours had passed since he'd first laid eyes on Blaine in the doorway, jacketless and snow-frosted, but it couldn't have been more than a few minutes--and, oh, god, everyone was still waiting upstairs. That was going to be awkward for sure.

"Blaine," Kurt said, careful to keep his voice gentle, because really, not only had he never seen Blaine like this, he kind of got the feeling that _no one_ had ever seen Blaine like this, like Kurt had broken him or something, so he was going to be careful, "can you tell me, just--why were you scared of asking me to sing with you?" Of asking me _out_ , he wanted to ask, but. Careful.

"Because I knew what I wanted it to mean," Blaine said. "I was so into you--I am--and...I've never. You know. Been into a guy before, not one who might actually say yes." He gave a small laugh that was clearly directed at himself.

Kurt stared at him incredulously. "Never?"

He shrugged. "Only straight guys. I mean, as far as I knew. Nice and impossible and safe."

Blaine looked away, for a moment, and the tightness on that last word was familiar-- _Simple as that_ \--though Kurt hadn't heard it since that day, not once. And that was...well. "That's something we have in common, then."

And, sure, the fact that his current crush had stood a chance of actually returning his feelings hadn't given _Kurt_ a scary mental breakdown, but whatever. Everyone had issues. Also, thank god, Blaine seemed to be finally returning to something approximating normal, at least as far as Kurt recognized it on him.

"Really?" Blaine said. "Never?"

Kurt shrugged. "Only out gay kid, remember? Anyway, there were only two of them. But yeah, both straight."

"Huh," Blaine said. Maybe it was because of the ensuing silence, or maybe because Blaine had finally lost the last traces of his "I shall die at any moment and have made my peace with God" face, but it felt like the right moment for Kurt to lean in and cup his face and kiss him.

So he did. A second later he realized his hands were still freezing and Blaine's face felt _really_ warm against his fingers, and wow, that was probably uncomfortable. He started to pull away, but Blaine muttered against his cheek, "God, I _love_ you," and kissed him again.

Then _he_ pulled back, looking stricken. "I didn't mean--"

"Please shut up," Kurt said, as nicely as possible, and kissed Blaine yet again. This time it stuck.

*

"Wait a minute," Kurt said several minutes later, when he finally remembered. "You live four hours away."

"Um," Blaine said. "It's really not that far."

"And it's _snowing._ "

"It wasn't--"

"And _why_ aren't you wearing a jacket?"

"I kind of forgot?" Blaine shrugged. "I was in a hurry."

"To be inarticulate and frighteningly intense at me on my doorstep? Yes, major emergency there." He squeezed Blaine tighter and dropped a light kiss on his jaw, both to make it clear that he was poking _affectionate_ fun and because, hey, he could do that now.

"I don't know," Blaine said, and squeezed back. "I was just eating breakfast, and thinking about how I was going to be alone tomorrow--my parents are out of town, they have family in Washington," he added, as if being left alone on Christmas by his _parents_ was totally normal, but that seemed like potentially treacherous territory so Kurt didn't say anything, for the moment. "And I was feeling sorry for myself, which makes me stupid. And then it seemed like a really good idea to come here, until I'd been driving for an hour and I realized it wasn't, but I kept going anyway."

"Good," Kurt said. "Best bad decision ever."

"I still don't get it, though." Blaine shifted back a little on the couch to look at him. "I mean, I'm happy. I am really happy that you--" He gestured between them, and Kurt nodded. "But," Blaine continued, and he really did sound confused, "I don't understand _why._ Not after I ruined everything, and I was so horrible to you, and came over here all crazy, and--everything. I don't mean to look a gift horse in the mouth--"

"So to speak."

"--but I can't figure out what part of that was the part that actually worked."

Kurt stared at him. He had a feeling he'd probably be doing that a lot. "Seriously?" Blaine nodded. He rolled his eyes. "Okay, believe it or not? It is _so much_ easier to fall for someone who isn't entirely, unflinchingly perfect in every single way. Not that I didn't manage it anyway, but trust me, you were making it kind of difficult for a while."

"Oh," Blaine said, like he'd never considered that before. Kurt suddenly wanted to kiss him again, but he abstained, because several minutes ago he'd had more that he needed to say, and despite everything he still did.

"Also," he said, "I'm sorry. What I said...you know it's not really you I was talking to, right?" That anger felt miles away now, like something horrible he'd coughed up and thrown away. Kurt hadn't known it was inside him until it was out, and the idea that he could lose control like that, just as soon as he didn't feel too threatened, didn't make him feel good at all.

"You kind of were," Blaine said. "Not that I don't want to go find and punch all the people you were _really_ talking to--"

"Please don't," Kurt said, ignoring the thrill of warmth that made him feel.

"But I should have known how it would make you feel. To reach out and then ditch you like that."

"Yes," Kurt said. "You should've. But I'm still sorry."

"Okay," Blaine said. "Me too. Are we good?"

Kurt kissed him. Shortly thereafter, he heard the basement door open.

"You better be decent," Mercedes said, and came downstairs before Kurt could reply. She stopped on the second-to-last stair, a huge smile breaking over her face.

"Hi, Mercedes," Blaine said, and waved.

"I _knew_ it was a boyfriend!" Mercedes said, much too loudly. They had definitely heard her in the kitchen.

"It is _now_." Kurt reluctantly moved away from Blaine, since after hearing that his entire family would be down here soon. "I told you you'd be the first to know if something changed, didn't I?" He glanced at Blaine, suddenly nervous, but there was no hesitance there, only a surprised, wide smile.

Without warning he was being hugged by Mercedes, almost too hard except it was Mercedes so it was exactly right. For the first time in weeks--since he'd walked out of McKinley, gotten in his car and driven to the parking lot of the Target a few blocks away and let himself cry it out while he was safely parked and anonymous--Kurt felt himself start to tear up. He hugged her back as hard as he could.

"You look happy," she said--quietly, just to him--and Kurt felt like he might really start crying a little if he said anything. Instead, he squeezed her tighter, because she would get it. He only let her go when he heard Blaine trying to introduce himself to Finn.

"Everyone," Kurt said, sitting back down on the couch, "this is Blaine. We're dating now. Blaine, you know everybody?"

"Step-brother, dad, step-mom," Blaine said, pointing at each person. Of course Kurt had already told him about pretty much everyone in his life. They looked surprised, though. "And BFF," he added, pointing at Mercedes, who grinned and swatted his hand away.

"Yes, and don't say bee-eff-eff out loud," Kurt said. Because seriously, who did that?

"It's nice to meet you all," Blaine said. He'd gone into full Charm mode, despite looking every bit as kissed and ruffled as Kurt. Blaine had some scarily deep reserves of smooth; Kurt was only starting to realize how deep. "Kurt's told me so much about you."

"He's never mentioned you," Burt said. Kurt fought the intense urge to hide his face in the sofa.

Carole smiled warmly. "Of course he has, Burt. Blaine is that nice boy who helped Kurt apply for his scholarship, remember?" She was looking at Blaine, Kurt was surprised to notice, with fondness. Charm mode clearly worked better on women.

It didn't seem to be working very well on Finn, who was looming over Blaine with every inch of his deeply unnatural height, wearing an expression that he probably thought was threatening and intense but actually made him look like a mime. "He means Kurt never mentioned _dating_ you."

Mercedes snorted. "Maybe not to you he didn't."

Blaine looked at him, eyebrows raised, with a smile that obviously wanted to be a smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth. His eyes were surprised, though, like the possibility had never occurred to him that Kurt had been totally into him since the day they met.

It made Kurt want to kiss him again, and of course that made him blush. "I tell her _everything,_ " he said.

"So, Blaine." His dad wasn't doing the physical-intimidation thing like Finn, but it was all there in his voice. Kurt knew for a fact his dad didn't normally sound this much like a potential serial killer. "Are you gay?"

Oh god, this was worse than he'd ever imagined.

" _Dad!_ " Kurt said--didn't shriek, he just always slipped into his upper register when he was being loud, that was all. "That's not--that's _inappropriate._ " Finn and Mercedes looked taken aback--Finn seemed suddenly extremely uncomfortable, and for once Kurt didn't blame him at all. Carole was gazing at Burt with exasperation, but not surprise--no, he didn't want to know. And he couldn't bring himself to look at Blaine.

"It's a fair question," his dad said implacably. "I know your generation experiments with this stuff--"

He was going to die, Kurt realized. He was going to die right here on his own couch from abject parental humiliation before he ever even made it past first base with his first boyfriend.

"--and I don't want some guy taking advantage of you."

"I understand," Blaine said. He sounded more like his regular self this time--less like That Charming Young Man, and not especially like he wanted to run as far away from Kurt and his insane family as he possibly could, either. "I don't want that either, sir. It's the last thing I want."

Kurt spared him a glance, finally. He could see the tension in Blaine's body, the way he was lacing his hands together in his lap, but his face was steady and open as he looked Burt in the eye. An unfamiliar feeling washed over Kurt: affection and warmth and something that was maybe pride.

"And yes," Blaine added, "I'm gay. I'm not closeted, either." His voice twitched a little, but Kurt was fairly sure he was the only one who heard it. That new feeling kept getting stronger, and when Blaine looked his way, Kurt tried to put every ounce of it into his expression. I'm proud of you, he thought, and maybe it got across because Blaine visibly relaxed. The smile he gave Kurt was bright, and lovely, and made him think--stupidly, tritely, unabashedly--of spring.

"I hate to interrupt," Mercedes said, momentarily surpassing Blaine as Kurt's favorite person in the world, "but in about half an hour, the entire glee club is going to get here, and Kurt still needs to get dressed." She didn't add, because considering her present audience she didn't have to, that Kurt Hummel required _exactly_ that much time to change clothes. If not more. She knew him so well.

" _Yes,_ " Kurt said, shooting her a grateful look. "I would like to get dressed. In my bedroom. Alone. Please."

It seemed like it might not work--his dad was clearly itching to continue his cross-examination of him and Blaine, probably in separate rooms, and Finn had gotten that uncomfortable look that meant he was having _feelings_ and might start talking about them at any moment. Carole came to his rescue, however, nudging Burt up the stairs and smiling at Kurt, and he felt such a sudden fondness for her that he surprised himself. They hadn't talked much since he left--since the wedding, really--and he was definitely going to put more work into the whole step-son/step-mom bonding thing, starting tonight. He smiled back at her and mouthed _thank you_ as they disappeared up the top of the stairs. Mercedes was valiantly attempting to herd Finn in the same direction, but he was ignoring her, looking at Kurt.

Kurt sighed. Finn didn't make up his mind too often, but there was no standing in his way when he did. "Okay, Finn, out with it."

"You look happy," Finn said. He sounded like he was finding the last few pieces of a puzzle he'd been working on for ages, and it wasn't even remotely what Kurt had been expecting to hear. For a second it was hard to breathe.

Mercedes, and Rachel, and even Finn. The text messages he hadn't replied to, thinking there was nothing left to say. The glee club stories Mercedes kept telling him over Skype in which somehow, at some point, someone always brought up Kurt. And he hadn't understood any of it.

Everyone had seen through him, _everyone_. Everyone wanted him to be happy.

Blaine's hand found its way into his and squeezed; Kurt didn't turn to look at him, but he could feel him there. He took a deep breath.

"Thank you," he said, "I am."


End file.
